Vanity
by Green Owl
Summary: "It was a fairly new practice, the open invitation for living flesh to enter Ordoghaz, but the occasion demanded it." Pairing: Soren/Isobel OC - original character
1. Perfume

Title: Perfume (1/8 of "Vanity")

Author: GreenOwl

Rating: PG

Pairing: Soren & Isobel (Original character)

Word Count: 200

Disclaimer: I don't buy / sell / process this mindcrack - I just abuse the _hell _out of it.

* * *

He was not handsome.

He had neither Kraven's symmetry of face nor Viktor's magnetism.

He was a Death Dealer, a sentinel, a glorified thug.

In one word: expendable.

Beautiful women - beautiful _human_ women – did not look at him.

They certainly didn't gaze at him for extended periods of time.

But she did.

She was a glorious construct of mortal flesh with her dark hair, pale skin and elegant, slender lines that invited wonder and wanting. And in addition to the painted-on midnight satin dress that accentuated every place on her body where Mother Nature had curved her, she wore a smile.

Not the chaste, welcoming grin of a friend.

Not the faint, disinterested grimace one gives when accidentally catching the eye of a stranger.

Not the caustic, januaried smirk of a predator who wishes the prey to remain unaware.

It was a voluptuous, decadent smile whose sole purpose was to invite him into her bed.

His nostrils flared as he caught her scent – black rose, bergamot and a mist of amber blended exquisitely with her own musk.

She was ripe.

One more day, two at the most, and she would be ready for him.

Anticipation coursed through him.

_Soon._


	2. Lipstick

Title: Lipstick (2/8 of "Vanity")

Author: Green Owl

Rating: PG

Pairing: Soren & Isobel (Original character)

Word Count: 400

Disclaimer: I don't buy / sell / process this mindcrack - I just abuse the _hell _out of it.

* * *

Another night, another endless and lavish gathering to endure…

He shed his trenchcoat, laid his vest and whips on the table, donned a jacket…life had been so much simpler when he'd worn a uniform. The modern emphasis on individuality with regards to attire ate at his natural sense of order and discipline.

Jagged lightning and splattered raindrops decorated his view of the lawn as he fixed his collar and cuffs.

The darkening had not gone well.

Lucian's forces were increasing and Raze had the audacity to stare at him across the hood of the limousine.

He had had many misgivings about Kraven's latest intrigue as they drove back to Ordoghaz, but he kept them to himself – the muscle was not expected to give (much less _hold_) an opinion.

She was waiting for him when he descended the stairs, standing at one of the windows, a forgotten glass of wine dangling from her long white fingers as she gazed at the storm that raged outside with a look of utter insouciance in her shaded eyes.

He was cautious as he approached, leaving enough space between them for private conversation, but not enough for public claming as he came to stand next to her.

They stood there for what must have seemed like an age to her before he spoke.

"You're new," he commented.

"You're not," she countered.

_A general received accent. Intriguing…_

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" she replied.

He considered her response for a moment before he answered. "Not really."

Her provocative mouth, painted with lush red lipstick, curved into a wicked scimitar-shaped smirk. "I didn't think so."

Another long bit of silence stretched between them.

"What do you like?" he murmured quietly, turning to look at her.

"What do you want me to like?" she inquired softly, ever so slightly inclining her body towards his.

Hunger surged through his veins.

He _had_ planned on appearing uninterested, on letting her believe that he was truly debating on whether or not to extend an invitation to her.

All designs of indifference departed as he glanced down at her beautifully decorated lips.

He held out his hand.

She placed hers in his.

He guided her with detachment through the crowd of indolent on-lookers, careful to maintain his mask of composure as they approached the stairs.

She trembled and he steadied her.

"Are you certain?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.


	3. Rouge

Title: Rouge (3/8 of "Vanity")

Author: GreenOwl

Rating: PG

Pairing: Soren & Isobel (Original character)

Word Count: 700

Disclaimer: I don't buy / sell / process this mindcrack - I just abuse the _hell _out of it.

* * *

His room was spare, stark, serviceable, a place to rest and nothing more.

He opened the door and held it for her and she entered, her eyes scanning the room slowly, taking in his plain, nondescript soldier's décor.

A soft blush stained her cheeks, deepening the faint wash of color that tinted her cheekbones as she acknowledged the bed with its dusky silk coverlet and hangings that mimicked the deep shadows of the gloaming.

He had no inclinations towards the velvet-draped four-poster monstrosities that voluptuous bureaucrats like Kraven favored, nor was he an ascetic who fancied the hard, unyielding leather of the carved, upholstered settees that Death Dealers like Selene preferred. His bed was a place to rest and nothing more.

There had been a handful of brief, orgiastic instants when a young handmaiden allowed herself to be tasted, but it was usually because she hoped to gain Kraven's favor through his most privileged henchman.

It had been over fifty years since he had partaken of blood directly from another's veins. Erika had been the last, all cooing and compliments on his musculature and all the while her aspirations were aimed a bit higher up the food chain.

_Was that this girl's goal as well, to offer herself as a way to draw closer to the source?_ He did wonder, given the rarity of her Choosing him as her recipient.

It was a fairly new practice, the open invitation for living flesh to enter Ordoghaz, but the occasion demanded it.

Both donated and cloned blood were able to satisfy immortal hunger, but the Awakening was an event of such importance that it demanded a vast selection of marrow – it would not do for Amelia's envoys to be served artificial fare. Kraven created the position of Summoner to recruit viable donors from among the disaffected youth of Budapest. Many enthusiastic, thrill-seeking males and females answered the call; only the finest specimens were accepted.

And there, right in front of him, stood one of those females in all of her perfect, willing flesh, her eyes caressing the deadly weapons that lay on his table.

"May I?" she inquired.

He shrugged. "If you like."

She smiled shyly, and let her eyes and hands drift over the mortal coils of the twin whips as they gleamed like silver serpents in the starlight.

Her hands, like the rest of her, were long, elegant and wondrously curved. The sight of her graceful fingers tracing each individual metallic vertebra made his pulse quicken and he wondered how they would feel sliding down his spine.

He put his hands into his pockets. "Why me?"

She looked up, the sweep of her lashes lifting from her cheeks to reveal the lush blue of her irises. "Why not?"

Her words were brazen, but she was nervous. He could tell by the warm bloom on her cheeks that heated her skin and intensified her blush. It made him edgy. And hungry.

"Is this your first time?" he asked her.

"Yes," she replied as she glanced at the bed.

"It won't hurt," he assured her.

"I know," she answered, turning towards him and stepping into his space.

He cupped her jaw, traced the line of her cheek, feeling the rush of blood as it intensified her skillfully applied rouge.

Her smile was valiant, even though her eyes were wide. She tilted her head and bared the smooth, white column of her neck.

He stroked the skin, savored the gentle thrum of her pulse against his thumb. "I don't want that."

A slight line appeared between her eyebrows. "If not that, then what?"

He breathed her in, reveling in how the rich cocktail of her body chemistry enhanced the amber and bergamot, intensified the hints of mandarin and vanilla, made the black rose bloom.

He brushed his lips over her cheek as he splayed his hand over the soft, smooth expanse of her stomach. "This. I want _this_."

Her eyebrow arched as she smiled. "So, it _is_ true."

"What is?" he prompted, his voice and hand pressing gently.

"She said you had…_unusual_ appetites." She placed a hand atop his and led him to the bed. "Shall we?"

"One thing first."

"Yes?"

"Your name," he requested, stroking the soft skin of her wrist.

Her smile was radiant. "Isobel."


End file.
